


Taste Test

by Jemisard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-17
Updated: 2011-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemisard/pseuds/Jemisard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn’t hesitate to make his disapproval of John’s gifted cologne known, in the most vivid ways he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste Test

Just once, once, John wished they could have a normal dinner, like a couple of friends out having dinner together just to spend some time socialising. He’d be happy with the pretence, even if they both knew it wasn’t real, they could pretend and not have half the restaurant staring at them.

Like last week, when they went to dinner and Sarah called and John had excused himself from the table to go and talk to her. So Sherlock grabbed his phone, took out the battery and dumped it in a glass of wine. To the applause of the couple next to them who thought Sarah was his bit on the side and Sherlock had done nothing to dissuade the idea.

Or the fortnight before that, when Sherlock took him out to the nice Indian place around the corner from them, but it turned out to be because he thought a suspect might come in and the meal was ruined when the man Sherlock was tailing recognised him and went him with a knife. John had put him down pretty fast, but the dinner had hit the floor at the same time as the suspect.

Or tonight. Tonight they were at Angelo’s place, in their usual seats where Sherlock could watch outside while appearing to actually be watching his companion. John could watch the diner and pretend Sherlock was even vaguely paying attention to him.

Naturally, when Sherlock did pay attention, it wasn’t very flattering. “You’re wearing new cologne.”

“Yes.” He’d been wearing it since they headed out, Sherlock must have run out of things of interest to study if he was turning to John. “You just noticed?”

“No, I noticed the new scent, I don’t like it much, but I just noticed that it’s weakened significantly while we’ve been here.”

“Right, thanks, of course you don’t like it. Why don’t you like it?” He pursed his lips, trying not to let his irritation get to him.

“It smells sour and cheap,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Sarah gave me this,” he stated.

“So it _is_ cheap and it still smells sour. You should pour it down the loo.”

“I’m not doing that, Sherlock,” he ground out.

“No, you’re right. Pour it down the sink at the office, that way I don’t have to worry about the smell lingering.” Sherlock turned his gaze to the window again.

“Okay, I’ve about had it, Sherlock. You belittle me, criticise me constantly, I let you get away with crashing my dates, but can you have the decency to not call my girlfriend cheap.”

“I didn’t call her cheap.” Sherlock smiled patiently. John felt that impending nightmare warning bell. “I called the cologne she gave you cheap.”

“Where do you get off calling it cheap? Where? It was a gift and-”

“And what? That means you have to lie about it? It smells sour on you and it is cheap, it’s been blended with a heavy alcohol base. Only cheaper perfumes do it, it causes an immediate burst of strong scent that fades to virtually nothing, hence why the scent has diminished over this brief time.”

John vaguely wanted to punch Sherlock, only he’d be as likely to get done for domestic abuse with the misconceptions Angelo had about them.

“John, it’s simply _facts_. It’s cheap and smells bad on you.”

“You could be wrong.”

“I can _smell_ the alcohol base.” He curled a hand around John’s shirt and pulled him forwards abruptly, tongue flicking out and licking up the column of John’s throat.

John’s mouth went very dry and his brain gave up on the evening and checked out because this was just too much ridiculous to cope with.

“I can taste it. You could taste it, with your paltry senses. It’s cheap and not very nice. Especially to taste. See?” He was leaning in again, tugging sharp and John was trying to back peddle even as he was hauled in and Sherlock’s tongue licked his own sharply.

He shoved his flat mate off. “Sherlock! God, what is wrong with you?!” He grabbed his glass of coke and downed it, hoping the acidity would do something about the whole memory of that moment.

“You can hardly lick your own throat now, can you?” Sherlock sipped his coffee like nothing strange had just happened.

“You can’t just lick me at random, I’m not a crime scene!”

“You should be, that cologne should be illegal,” he sniffed disdainfully.

“That’s it.” He stood up, grabbing his coat. “I’m leaving.”

“But you food hasn’t arrived yet,” Sherlock pointed out.

“That never stops you dragging me out at a moment’s notice,” he snapped. “Don’t wake me up when you get home.”

He stormed out, heading home and hoping Sherlock had got the hint that he wasn’t welcome back yet.

In the restaurant, Angelo approached the table. “Lover’s quarrel?”

“I don’t think he likes me telling him his cologne is cheap,” Sherlock mused.

“Sherlock...” Angelo looked scandalised and sly at once. “Buy him a nicer one then. Get someone he respects to remark on the old one and you give him a new one, a nicer one, eh?”

“Someone he respects...”

Down the road, John swore someone just walked over his grave.

*~*~*

John made sure to wear the cologne every day. In truth, he wasn’t sure how big a fan of it he was, but it drove Sherlock nuts so he was happy to do it. Sarah commented that he was wearing her gift, so that went over well at least. Someone might as well enjoy it on him because no one at 221b Baker Street did.

He always made sure to put on a heavy dose before coming home, slipping it back into his briefcase before he reached the front door.

No pacing. No shooting. No violin. It was a promising start to the evening.

He came up the stairs and set his briefcase by the door before stepping in, half out of his jacket.

He froze.

Both of the Holmes brothers looked up at him, eyes sharp and attentive. He hated it when they did this. Mycroft had his bloody umbrella and Sherlock was playing with a skull. John hoped it was the skull he had originally brought into the house and not a new one.

“See,” Sherlock murmured, eyes not leaving John.

“Quite,” Mycroft agreed, also not looking away. “Most unsettling.”

“What?” He hung up his coat and spread his hands. “What now?”

“Chemical, not natural base. Minimal actual oils.” Mycroft stood in a smooth movement, setting his umbrella aside, Sherlock catching it and hooking it on his own chair.

Mycroft advanced on John. John, who had faced down terrorists, gun men, Moriarty, being strapped in a bomb, Chinese cross bow torture and American friendly fire did the sensible thing and backed up until he hit the wall and Mycroft was right there in his personal space, looking down at him.

“That cologne is not a good scent on you, Doctor. It’s cloying and souring. A lack of genuine essential oils for scenting means the alcohol content is very high.”

“Yeah. So Sherlock said.”

“Still, we must be certain,” he said diplomatically.

John turned his head to offer to go get the bottle from his brief case.

Mycroft licked up the column of his throat, from base to jaw, leaning back to pull a face. “No, ugh, quite sour and sharp, you were absolutely right, Sherlock.”

John stared at Mycroft. Mycroft and Sherlock were sharing a look.

“You’re both bloody insane,” John yelled.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mycroft said, turning back to him. “Did you want to taste...”

“No!” He shoved Mycroft back. “You, and you, keep your tongues away from me, do you get it? I won’t wear the bloody cologne anymore, just stop licking me!” He grabbed the brief case, pulled out the bottle and threw it on the couch. “There, done, now stop treating my throat like a free tasting session!”

He fled before they got it in their heads to start dissecting his words and found some obscure loophole that gave them permission to continue their invasion of private space.

Mycroft pulled out his handkerchief and neatly dabbed at his mouth. “Now, even if she does buy him more, he won’t dare to use it and will instead put it straight down the sink. Just leave the new one with his razor, he’ll use it in absence of choices and then find he quite enjoys it.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “And you’re sure it’s the licking he objects to, not the criticism of Sarah’s gift?”

“Yes, Sherlock.” Mycroft grabbed his umbrella. “Though by no means take my word for it. Experiment all you want on the matter.” He smiled and let himself out.

Sherlock smiled to himself.

He liked experiments.


End file.
